Three Part Harmony (The Road to Rocktoberfest 2024)

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Griffin

“Hey, Dagger,” I said to answer his call. “How are things going?”

He had become a great source of support and information regarding Michael. I got a text message or a phone call almost weekly since Mike went to him asking for help. Dagger never divulged what they discussed and I never asked. It wasn’t my business, but I sure did appreciate Dagger letting me know what was going on with Mike. Although sometimes his updates hurt to hear. I hated knowing how much Michael was struggling and it felt like I was completely to blame for that. Dagger disagreed with my assessment but I imagined Mike might think differently.

I couldn’t begin to guess how much he hated me, and damn, I really wanted to have the proper amount of time to talk this all through with him, but that couldn’t happen until after the Rocktoberfest show. Chaos had a break in their schedule after that before they went into the studio to record for a while. I was hoping then we’d have time to really lay it out on the table and see where we were now and where we wanted to be. I hoped we could possibly find our way back to each other, maybe rekindle the relationship we’d barely been able to start before the shit hit the fan at the Asylum gig. But realistically, that probably wasn’t going to happen and I’d have to accept that and find a way to move on.

“Griffin, I’m doing well,” Dagger said. “We just parked our rig at the Rocktoberfest back lot and the place is already jumping. Listen, I have a VIP pass for you and a friend waiting at the ticket office. Those credentials will get you backstage and anywhere else on the property you want to go. I also have you on the approved list for the security teams. Just check in with them once you arrive and they’ll handle the rest. I’m sure you remember the drill.”

“I sure do but let me ask you something,” I said. “Is Mike going to be okay if I’m there? I mean, I don’t want to distract him anymore than he already will be. The last thing he needs is more stress or anxiety—especially caused by me.”

“I hear your concern but I think Mike is finally healing and he’s so much stronger—mentally and physically— since you last saw him. He’s kind of shredded with muscle now, like a total bad-ass, Griff, and he looks much healthier. You might not recognize him!”

“I’m really nervous to see him and even more so for him to see me,” I admitted. “I have no idea if he’ll be happy to see me or not.”

“Well, I think it’s time to see about that,” Dagger said.

“If nothing else, I can’t wait to hear them perform,” I said. “I’ve heard the buzz going on around LA about Chaos. It’s exciting as hell.”

“It is. They’ve worked their asses off since last year’s Rocktoberfest and it’s nice to see it starting to pay off.”

“Are they still on the schedule to perform on Saturday?” I questioned.

“Yeah, they have another good time slot this year,” Dagger replied. “Saturday night at eight o’clock.”

“Okay, I’ll plan to be there that afternoon,” I said. “But I think I’ll hold off on trying to see Michael until after they perform.”

“I’ll leave that decision up to you,” Dagger answered.

“Thank you, Dagger—for everything.”

“No need to thank me. I’m happy to help when and where I can,” he said. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

I had no idea if this was a trip I should even be making, but I did want to see them perform on a big stage the size of the one at Rocktoberfest. Their band really was a topic of many conversations I’d overheard around Los Angeles in the last few weeks and that truly was exciting. Chaos really was making a name for themselves and I was proud of what they were doing. I started working with them when they were so new to the business they hadn’t even fully developed their sound. Now they had a solid signature sound and an actual brand behind their name. Their music was starting to get a little airplay on the local rock radio stations, too.

The first time I heard their new single, “Fine Line,” I had to pull my truck over to the side of the road to listen so I wouldn’t cause an accident. The excitement that suddenly bubbled inside me was making it dangerous to drive safely. I was overjoyed to hear this and so damn proud of them.

But besides the pride I also felt heartache because with all the good happening in Michael’s life, it drove home the point that he was achieving this without me being in his life. Maybe he was better off if I didn’t try and reconnect? The old saying, “let sleeping dogs lie,” popped into my head but I shrugged it off. If I went to the show and said hello to a few of my former security team players and watched Chaos perform, Michael didn’t necessarily need to know I was there. I could blow in, do my thing, and leave if I wanted to without the band even knowing I was in attendance. I didn’t have to seek Michael out and try and force a conversation onto him.

But wasn’t talking to him the primary point of making the trip?

I packed a small travel bag with enough clean clothing for two days and booked a flight to the closest airport to the show, then rented an SUV to drive the rest of the way. It was late afternoon by the time I finally arrived at the outside venue and found a spot to park in the VIP section near the primary pavilion and stage. I left my bag in the back of the vehicle covered by a lightweight jacket and locked up .

Dagger was right, this place was packed with people, the most I’d ever seen here for the event. I nodded at several guards I knew on my way to the ticket office to collect my VIP pass and hung the lanyard around my neck after I checked in. I sent Dagger a quick text to let him know I was on site, so he could let the event security force for the venue know I’d be walking around. Then it was time to head backstage to say hello to any of the Ventura team I could find and maybe have some dinner before the night performances began.

I saw Fizzbo seated at a table in the corner of the main dining tent. I got in the food line and piled a plate with enough roasted veggies to fill a sub roll and a bottle of water, then headed over to Fizzbo’s table.

“Hey there,” Fizzbo said when he saw me approach. He stood and gave me a quick hug before seating himself again.

“It’s good to see you,” I said as I took a seat next to him.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Fizzbo said. “Dagger told me you might come but he wasn’t sure it would work out. I’m glad it did. Mike will be happy to see you.”

I grimaced at his words. “I’m not sure how happy he’ll be or if I’ll even see him. I came to see them perform on the big stage but I’m not going to push Michael to talk to me.”

Fizzbo tipped his head a bit to the side. “Why would you come all this way and not make a point to talk to him?” he asked.

“I don’t want to pressure him or add more stress to what he’s here to do,” I explained .

“Jesus, what the two of you need is to sit down and talk like adults, and get this squared away,” he said to state the obvious.

“It’s my fault. I overreacted to something childish and Mike was smart to walk away.”

“It doesn’t matter who is at fault. You disagreed on something and you need to make it right—both of you.”

“You’re right. I know that, and I also know how much he’s been hurting because of what happened,” I admitted.

“You’ve both been suffering but now that Mike is back on track, I think it’s time you try and resolve the other issues,” Fizzbo said and stuffed a huge bite of salisbury steak into his mouth.

I began to layer the vegetables into the sub roll to make a thick sandwich while Fizzbo continued to clean his plate.

“I’m going to wait until after Chaos performs before I try and talk to him,” I detailed. “I thought it would be best if I let him get his work done without knowing I’m here. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying and you might be right,” Fizzbo agreed. “Just play it by ear.”

“I will,” I said.

After dinner I followed Fizzbo outside where we found several guards from the Ventura team. I hugged several of them and we chatted briefly until Fizzbo pulled some of them away to get back to work. MacAlister walked up to the group just as Fizzbo was leaving with the others.

“Hey, man,” Mac said and we embraced quickly.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Great, everything’s great,” Mac answered .

“Is that sarcasm?” I asked.

“Nope, not at all,” Mac explained. “You already know how fucked up Mike was after you left but things are good with him. Did you know he’s sober now?”

I nodded at Mac and swallowed hard. It still hurt like hell to hear how low Mike had fallen and know that I played a part in that. “I’m really glad he’s doing so well.”

“How about you?” he asked. “Are you working or taking some time off?”

“Well, I did part of a tour for Tenley Smithers until she broke her ankle and had to cancel the rest of the tour,” I outlined. “At the moment, I’m just hanging out and trying to plan my next move.”

“Why don’t you come back and work with us?” Mac asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure about that,” I said. “It would depend on a few things.”

“ Things —meaning Mike?”

“Partly him but…there are other factors at play, too,” I explained. “I thought while I was here for the show I’d try and talk to him, if he’s receptive to doing that. If he isn’t then I won’t push him. He’s been through enough.”

Mac glanced at me. I saw his mouth open to speak but then he closed it and looked away.

“What?” I asked him. “Just say it. Whatever it is, I probably deserve it.”

“You’re implying I think you fucked up and I don’t. Personally, I think you made the right call for the situation,” he said. “He was a distraction to you doing your job at keeping him safe. If shit went sideways on a job and he got hurt because you missed a threat, that would be a serious issue.”

“Wanna know what the tipping point for me was?” I asked and Mac nodded at me. “Jealousy. He was talking to an ex and I stupidly jumped to the wrong conclusion but it put a spotlight on him making me not think clear. I went straight to Fizzbo after that show and told him to reassign me.”

“Damn, that is harsh. I don’t see Mike being a cheater, though,” Mac reassured. “He seemed pretty whipped for you.”

That made me chuckle but then I got serious. “How bad did it get—with Mike, after I left?”

“What specifically are you asking?” Mac questioned me with one lifted brow. “He wasn’t hooking up with anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I have no right to ask that, nor do I have a right to claim ownership of him,” I said. “I was the one who left him and that meant he was free to do whatever and whomever he wanted,” I replied.

“He mainly kept to himself and drank,” Mac explained. “And he wasn’t necessarily a nice drunk, either, but I overlooked it because I knew he was hurting. I can see now that you were in pain, too.”

“Yeah, I was a suffering bastard for sure—still am, but I’m hoping this weekend will give him and me some kind of resolve,” I confessed. “It may not be the kind of closure I’m hoping for but regardless, I’m ready to face it either way. ”

“I guess it’s all you can do,” Mac agreed. “But if there is anything I can do to help this play out favorably for you, I’m happy to lend a hand.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I said.

Mac was called away to help with something inside the pavilion. I waved goodbye to him and continued on with my walking tour of the grounds. It was weird being here and not working. I kind of felt like a fish out of water, unsure as to what I should do, but I stumbled upon so many of the people I used to work with that it was like being here on the job. I did try and stay away from the locations I knew Chaos could be. My plan was when it was time for them to take the stage, I’d follow behind the guard team and watch the show from the side of the stage with Dagger.

I’d done the job with them long enough to know the drill. An hour before their set, security would bring them inside and put them in a “holding cell,” otherwise known as a dressing room or the green room. I made sure I arrived early at the point where I knew security would escort the guys in Chaos into the pavilion near the loading dock area. It was a very busy spot on the grounds with lots of moving pieces and people. It would make it easy for me to blend into the background and not be noticed by anyone in the band. I found Fizzbo and Dagger standing there and walked over to chat with them.

“It won’t be long now before it’s show time,” I commented to them. “Are they nervous? ”

“Not so much nervous. I think I’d call it excited,” Dagger said and chuckled. “They’re a lot more calm this time around than they were last time we were here and so far they’re all behaving, too.”

I felt some of the anxiety leave my muscles then and I was able to relax a bit. “That’s really good to hear,” I said. “Are they doing a full set?”

“Yep, they’ve graduated to doing a whole hour,” Dagger said. “Maybe next year, they’ll be in the headliner group of bands that perform.”

“That would be fantastic,” I said. “They’ve worked hard to get here. That’s for sure.”

We watched the long parade of workers and people coming from the grassy fields and then into a tented corridor that fed into the back of the pavilion structure. The loading docks were to our left and that was another beehive of activity as the roadies hauled in band equipment from the backs of tractor-trailer trucks one after the other. The noise was at deafening levels but we could also hear the somewhat muted music coming from the stage at the front of the building.

I saw a group of about six Ventura security guards coming through the entrance corridor all dressed alike in work uniforms that consisted of plain black pants and a distinguishable fire engine red polo shirt with the Ventura logo embroidered on the chest pocket. I smiled at the sight of them and a pang of sadness squeezed my heart for having to stand on the sidelines and miss working this gig .

“I’m going to leave you two here and get the band settled into their dressing room,” Dagger said.

“I’ll be there in five,” Fizzbo said. “Stick with the guards on your way in.”

“You know I will,” Dagger replied and hurried over to the barrier to join the procession with the Ventura guards who would be following the band.

“There they are,” Fizzbo said and my head snapped in the direction he was looking.

I saw Fletcher first with Dixon walking right beside him and Potts directly behind. Then I saw Michael, practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. He was air-drumming silent rhythms with his sticks in front of himself and looked like a livewire crackling and sparking on wet pavement. He was already in the zone and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of him.

Everything about him seemed different and yet the same. He’d filled out, like I’d been told, but damn, the extra bulk on him appeared to be all muscle. He looked fine as hell and my heart stuttered behind my ribs. The trimmed beard was new, too, and his hair was now long enough on the top for it to be completely pulled back in a short ponytail.

He literally stole my breath.

Once they took the slight corner coming out from the tunnel, they’d briefly be walking in the open before entering a hallway at the back of the building that would take them to the dressing rooms. Fizzbo moved closer to the barricade, ready to fall into step behind the band once they passed by. I walked with him and waited to follow him into the building.

As we waited, I saw a streak of red barrel by me coming from the loading dock area and head straight for the band who was just entering the dressing room hallway. He was wearing a pair of faded, black jeans and a brick-red polo shirt with a ball cap stuffed into the back pocket of the jeans. I glanced at Fizzbo and noticed he was looking in another direction and wasn’t paying attention to the guy.

“The team is wearing the dark red polo shirts tonight?” I asked.

“Nah, not dark red. They’re just like the one I’m wearing,” he said without looking at me. “I guess you’d call it firetruck red or something like that. Why?”

“Fire-engine red,” I repeated. “He isn’t one of them!” I started running just as I saw the man I was focused on pull the ball cap from his back pocket and tug it firmly onto his head. The bill almost completely concealed his face.

“The guy in the dark red shirt!” I yelled to Fizzbo who was running with me. “He’s not part of your team!”

The man in question vaulted over a barrier and was coming up fast behind Chaos and with Michael at the back of the pack, he’d be the one colliding with this guy first. No fucking way was I going to let that happen.

Fizzbo was yelling into his earpiece comms system, “Stop the guy! Dark red shirt!”

I hurtled over the same barrier, just a few dozen steps behind the guy I had in my crosshairs. He was moving quickly but not in a manner that would draw too much attention to himself. He kept his head down and was doing his best to blend in. He stumbled a bit on something on the floor and that’s when I saw a quick flash of light flicker off of something reflective like…metal.

The man was carrying a knife with about a four-inch blade.

“Blade! He’s got a blade!” I yelled at Fizzbo at my right shoulder.

Fizzbo was hollering into his earpiece, giving orders to anyone who was listening as he shoved people out of his way. “Move it! Move it!”

“Get the band out of the hall!” I screamed at Fizzbo. “I’ll take him down!”

Just as the guy came directly up behind Michael, I saw my opening and took it without another second’s thought. At this point, I was working off pure adrenaline and gut instincts but my training paid off. I was able to dodge two venue security people and then ran up an incline to a wooden pallet holding amps sitting stationary at the side of the hall. I used the amplifier on the top of the stack to launch myself into the air with the intent of coming down on top of the man. I saw the knife in the man’s hand, plain as day, as I flew over the heads of the two people walking next to him. In front of us, Fizzbo was pushing the band and the security team forward while shouting orders to get them into the first dressing room they came to.

Everything shifted into slow motion. The knife lifted to strike Michael in the back of the shoulder just as I crashed into the man. I felt the familiar burning sting of the blade slicing into my skin but still managed to body-slam the man face down onto the concrete floor. His knife skittered away from him and one of the Ventura guards kicked it to the opposite side of the hallway.

“That fucking prick had it coming, asshole!” the man said as he struggled in my hold. “Why the hell did you stop me? He needs to pay for fucking my girlfriend!”

I pressed my knee between his shoulder blades with every ounce of force I had left in me, then leaned in close to his ear. “I happen to love that fucking prick. That’s why I stopped you, you piece of shit! No one touches him! NO. ONE. Got it?”

Fizzbo attached a zip-tie around the wrists of the guy while another guard helped me to stand upright. I stepped to the side of the hallway but that’s when the pain began to settle in from the knife wound and I suddenly I felt every little nuance of the injury. My injured arm was limp and warm and when I looked at it I saw that it was covered in blood from my biceps down to my hand where it dripped from the tips of my fingers onto the floor. There was so much blood I could smell it as much as I could feel it pouring from the cut. My peripheral vision began to turn foggy and I slipped down the wall into a sitting position on the floor.

Shit, I think I’m gonna pass out.

I could sense and hear people next to me but couldn’t make full sense of it. They were possibly paramedics working on my arm, because they were talking in medical terms. Then I saw Fizzbo’s face in front of mine.

“Is he okay? Did he get hurt?” I asked Fizzbo, fisting his shirt in my fingers .

“Mike’s fine and we got the guy,” Fizzbo said. “He’s already in police custody. Let them work to get you stabilized and then we’ll move you to the medical tent for proper assessment.”

“Thank fuck he’s okay,” I said, and that was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.